


Ghosts of the East Coast

by lionessvalenti



Category: Agents of Cracked
Genre: Canon Compliant, Ghosts, M/M, New York City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Dan lives with the harsh realities of being dead, Michael is going to murder the ghost in their apartment that's moving all his stuff around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts of the East Coast

It didn't take too long for Dan to realize that the perfect place for him and Michael to live was New York City. It was large, people didn't ask questions (like, "Why are those dead comedy writers sitting next to me on the bus?"), and since the Chief had taken away his memory of how to drive, he seemed incapable of relearning it, so a place with lots of public transportation was a good idea.

It helped, too, that New Yorkers would be immune to any of Michael's antics. Ninety percent of them wouldn't notice a man wearing only a pajama top and sunglasses wandering the streets in the middle of the afternoon telling strangers about the time he got hopped up on bear tranquilizers and jumped off the roof of the roof of a building because he thought he had sprouted wings (which _totally happened_ and Dan wondered how it was fair that _Michael_ got to be the immortal one).

The other ten percent who might notice would only look on in apathy.

Yes, New York City was the place for two guys who were supposed to be in hiding. Especially if one of them was batshit crazy.

However, no place was good for two guys who were supposed to be _dead_. Dan couldn't get a job. His college degree meant nothing, as did his entire resume. It was all nothing but the accomplishments of someone he couldn't be anymore. He couldn't even use his own name (which was ridiculous since when he did a Google search, he found that there were thousands of Daniel O'Briens out there and why couldn't he still be one of them?).

Dan knew that a job would be his responsibility, but he wondered what it was that Michael would do all day. Being cooped up in the apartment wouldn't do, especially since they were only renting a bedroom, and so far, their roommate hadn't realized he was sharing his space with, well, an insane person who also happened to be magic. Dan figured that he could probably just put Michael on the Q train all day, which would keep him entertained, and he might possibly come home with money.

"I'll get a job," Michael said with pure confidence when Dan mentioned this.

"You're not qualified to do anything," Dan replied. He paused. "Well, maybe except dealing drugs."

Michael's eyes lit up and he opened his mouth, a finger pointing in the air.

"No," Dan said before Michael could even speak. "You're not going to deal drugs. You'd just do them all, and then we'd have some drug kingpin breaking down our door at two in the morning and he'd definitely kill me."

"I worked at Cracked for years. People love me, Dan. I know that's hard for you to understand because nobody loves you, and you were never held as a child, and you've never had sex--"

"We had sex last night."

"—but I live in a world full of love. People look up to me. They want to be me. They want to give me a job."

"You worked at Cracked because it was built specifically for you," Daniel replied as patiently as possible. "This is the real world, Michael. There's a lot more to it than being liked. You have to be competent. You have to show up on time and dress appropriately. You know I... I have... feelings about you, but you're not capable of doing any of those things."

"I could be a hooker. Woman love sleeping with me," Michael said, his eyes growing wider. "You know they would pay for it, and hookers make a lot of money. I have some experience in paying them."

Dan furrowed his brow. "You realize most of the people who would pay you for sex would be dudes, right?"

Michael frowned. "Yeah, you're right, and I've never done that before."

"We did that. Last night. Do you seriously not remember that? The sex you had with me?"

"No!" Michael's jaw dropped and then he paused, considering the information in his head. "That was you?"

It was a little too reminiscent of his last relationship for Dan to continue this conversation. He stood up and sighed. "I'm going to go get a job in a mail room or something because according to the world at large, I didn't even graduate high school."

"What's high school? It sounds awesome. We should totally go there. How high can we get?"

Dan smiled, resigned, and patted Michael on the head. Yup, this was his life now. He was going to have to accept that. Someday.

*

Dan got a job, and he wished it would have been in a mail room, because that would have been superior to his very important work at the 5th Avenue Sbarro. His co-workers were college students and two guys spoke what he could only guess to be Romanian. Dan tried to remember a time when he had been respected (okay, that had been never, really, but he used to, at least, work in an office).

He came home, smelling like grease and marinara, with the leftover pizza slices from the end of the night. The apartment was empty, and he just hoped Michael remembered how to get home. Or that he would come home at all, possibly having hopped a flight to Greece because he heard about some bad ass parties.

Dan ate his pizza alone, the cheese rubbery from sitting under the heat lamps too long. He wondered, as the time ticked by, if Michael had been arrested. It seemed likely, but then again, things just worked out for him in a way it couldn't for any other person in the world. People would probably just laugh if he shot them in the face.

Sometimes, Dan thought he was the only sane person in the world. Did that make him crazy?

He took a shower, but the grease smell never really went away, and then, wearing a clean tee shirt and boxers, crawled into the futon bed in their tiny room. It wasn't even a bedroom, but a den with a green bed sheet over the open space where a door might be.

"Dan. Daniel. Dan. Dan, wake up. Dan. Dan."

It felt like he hadn't slept at all, but according to the digital clock on the floor, it was after three in the morning and there was Michael's voice and his hot, Cheetos-scented breath against Dan's ear. Dan turned over and through the darkness he could make out Michael's face, only about two inches away from his own.

"Fuck, Michael, where the hell have you been?" Dan asked, sitting upright. He groped around until his hand found the lamp and switched it on. Michael was on his knees, wearing his sunglasses (how did he get around in the dark room?), looking incredibly worried. Which was weird, because Michael was never worried about anything.

"I've been collecting supplies," Michael replied.

"For what?"

Michael paused dramatically. "There's a ghost in the apartment."

"What? No, there's not." Dan scratched his forehead and wondered how the hell he got himself into this situation. He wondered that a lot these days.

"Then who's moving my stuff? Was it you? Are you pranking me again? You said you--"

"No!" Dan exclaimed, practically in a panic. He wrapped his hands around Michael's shoulders and leaned his face in as closely as he could without actually kissing Michael. "The last thing in the world I would ever do is prank you. I would put a bullet in your head, and in mine, before I would prank you, I promise."

Michael grinned. "Aww, Dan's that's so nice."

Dan blinked, trying to process the logic of Michael Swaim. "Yes, it is," he said finally. "What kind of supplies did you get? Is there a store where you can buy a proton pack?"

"No, Daniel, you have to build your own," Michael replied as though everyone should know this information. "But that's old school. I got a machine gun."

"A machine gun won't kill a ghost," Dan said, the words out of his mouth before he even considered them. Then he wondered why _that_ was his first protest to this statement. "You can just go buy a machine gun? I thought we were in New York, not Texas."

"It's a ghost machine gun," Michael said. "I'm going to sit and I'm going to wait until I see the ghost and I'm going to kill it. Again."

Dan took a slow breath and said, "Okay, if that's what you want to do." Resignation was his new middle name. "How was the subway?"

"It was great!" Michael took off his sunglasses to reveal his bright, happy eyes. "Did you know that people will give you money just for talking to them? I made twelve dollars and half a sandwich."

It was probably pointless to tell him that people either thought he was homeless or a performance artist, so Dan just smiled. "That's great, buddy. Can we just go to bed? I want to be miserable for a while." He could worry about this whole machine gun thing in the morning. Michael couldn't do anything dangerous if he was asleep (usually).

"Yeah, sure," Michael replied. He kicked off his yellow sneakers and curled up on next to Dan under the covers, fully dressed. Dan could feel his erection, even through the cargo pants Michael was wearing. He'd figured out a long time ago that Michael was pretty much always hard.

"Why do you want to be miserable?" Michael asked. "We should go to the beach. Everyone has fun at the beach."

"I burn."

"We could get pictures with Santa Claus."

"It's August."

"Not in a mall, that's stupid. With the real Santa Claus. In the north pole."

Dan raised his eyebrows. "I'll think about it."

"You smell like pizza," Michael whispered into Dan's neck.

"Yeah, I know."

"I like it."

Despite himself, Dan smiled. "Good. I'm going to smell like this forever."

*

Somehow, Michael was awake before Dan's alarm went off. Usually, Michael slept until at least noon. He lurched out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom, but stopped. He peered into the living room, and saw Michael sitting in an arm chair with a fist against his stomach and another in the air.

"Michael?"

Michael started, but then looked over at Dan with a grin. "Hey, man. Is that what you're wearing today? It's a good look for you."

Dan glanced down at his wrinkled shirt and shook his head. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for the ghost, Michael replied. "That fucker isn't going to get away with moving my stuff around."

"I thought you... you said you bought a machine gun."

Michael held up the absolutely nothing in his hands. "That's what I've got. It's a ghost machine gun."

"Ghost machine gun," Dan repeated. "You mean to tell me that the gun itself is a ghost."

"Well, regular guns don't work on ghosts. Ghosts are already dead, Dan. You need a special gun."

"Are you telling me you paid money for that? How much did it cost?"

"I paid for it with my subway money."

"So it cost twelve dollars?"

"Close. Only three hundred and fifty dollars more than that."

Dan's jaw dropped. "Jesus Christ, Michael, that was our rent money! This stuff isn't free! We live in the real world now, and you have to pay rent and not do stupid shit like buy imaginary guns! You got scammed and you wasted our money on it!"

" _God_ , Dan, I'm trying to help. You go to work, I protect the apartment from ghosts. That's our thing."

"That's our thing? _That's_ our thing? That's not our thing, we don't have a thing. I work and you do whatever the hell you want. _That's_ our thing. There's no such thing as ghosts, they're not real. Odds are, you're the one moving your own stuff and forgetting about it."

"I didn't understand anything you just said to me," Michael said blankly.

Dan ran his hands over his face. "I can't believe you just spent half our rent on air. I'm going to have to work so many extra shifts to make that money back."

"If we get rid of the -- DAN, DUCK!"

Dan didn't think, he hit the floor and covered his head, but he wasn't sure _why_. He looked up to see Michael holding his pretend gun, and moving his body like he was firing it, recoil and everything. There was no noise, except for the " _Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam_!" sound Michael was making with his mouth.

Dan was about to get up, because this was ridiculous, when a body dropped to the floor next to him.

"What the _hell_?" Dan shrieked, maybe sort of like a little girl. He scrambled to his feet and stood next to Michael. "You didn't even have a real gun -- and that's our _roommate_! You just killed our roommate!"

Michael dropped his -- gun? air? Dan wasn't sure at this point -- and jumped forward, pulling at the roommate's (he had a name, but Dan wasn't sure what it was) pants. "Get his wallet! Get the money!"

"You just killed a guy!" Dan said. His mind raced on what to do next. What would keep Michael out of prison? Well, probably his devil-may-care attitude. What would keep himself out of prison? "We have to... we to have to dump the body. We have to get rid of the body."

Wallet in hand, Michael looked up. "Do you want to have sex first?"

Dan stared incredulously for a long time, and then, slowly, he nodded. "Yeah, I definitely do."

And that was how Dan and Michael got their rent controlled apartment.


End file.
